The Andromeda Strain
- Episode I: A Prequel to Andromeda, Part I of III
- The Ashford Manor Chief Administrative Centre
- Thursday, December 31st, 2009 - 5:15 PM AST
When a soldier gets shot on the battlefield, you can extract the bullet. You can't see it coming, but you can see the cause if you can survive the effects. A virus, though... you can see the effects, but you'll never see the cause.
He watched his people from afar, reminiscing about times gone by.
William Alexandros sat idly by the window, overlooking a city that was bustling with traffic. In less than seven hours, his country would be celebrating the dawning of a new year. In many respects, it was going to be as somber an occasion as a joyous one. Much had occurred to the Azuran people over the past three hundred sixty five days, most of it undesirable to say the least. Azurans both young and old watched their century-old Federal Republic collapse under the strain of a military coup, led by a disgruntled Sea Marshall who made a pretender's claim to the throne which William - His Majesty the King, thank you very much - now inherited. The civil war that followed lasted all but a month, yet in the span of a month, twenty-three million people died. A "nuclear event", they had called it; yet while the mainland had suffered the destruction of the old capital, Williamstown, the poor people caught in Cullimore and Lyndhurst were experiencing hardship that went without equal, and were sure to suffer for years to come.
And so a country, leaderless and reeling, turned in their panic to a man that they didn't full know, lest they could have fully trusted. He branded himself as a Reformer, making New Azura into a bastion of its past glory. The man, Daniel McAllen, had instead corrupted New Azura into a horrifying nightmare concoction, turning into his personal playhouse, where every lustful fantasy and covetous desire was brought to fruition. Bloody wars followed around the globe; some just, some not. And the people responded with the threat of Revolution once more, nearly sending New Azura into the abyss, from whence it would probably never again return. So much had been lost...
The King sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Though he couldn't tell for sure, he presumed to be wearing the bland inflection of a man who had seen too much to ever be completely sane again. Though a de facto-Revolution had indeed occurred, it was a relatively bloodless one. The People sided with a man, who was to become a King. The last true King of the Azuran Empire, as it were. A bloodline had been remade in the lowest of valleys, shrouded amidst the shadows of death. And yet here he was, presiding over the Kingdom - His Kingdom - to the very best of his abilities. Yet he would not make the same errors that his predecessors had. President Karvounis had gotten too ambitious, too greedy; he overextended himself, his country, and most importantly, his military in trying to globalize the nation. "Emperor" Elijah was too prideful; if he had allowed humility to rule some of his most important decisions, he may very well have quashed the rebellion against his ascension to the throne of Capodimonte. It would have been a far-sight better way to spend the New Year's celebrations, opposed to being confined to the history books as the tinpot dictator who was incinerated by his own nuclear weapons.
McAllen was too maniacal, too zealous; he had no tact in handling the affairs of his country. He was an evil, evil man regardless of his outward appearance, there was no two bones about it. Yet had he been more discreet with his maneuverings, perhaps his reign would have lasted far longer than it did. Providence, perhaps, or the will of God helped spare the Azuran people any more heartache than they had already endured by his hand, and that of his direct predecessors. Indeed, the Azuran people had lost much in the past year; enough to establish 2009 as the "End of the Era of Innocence", as the late Prime Minister, Jack Forsyth had so eloquently coined. William could take solace in his having restored the lineage of his forefathers, at the very least. And the Azuran people had finally found a leader that truly cared about their well-being, though it would take years before the scars of '09 would even begin to heal.
A lot of people, when thrust into the center of a fiery tempest such as New Azura's geopolitical maelstrom, would probably have followed the trend, using a smart mix of deception, conniving, and trickery to completely destroy any semblance of hope amongst the people. William was raised by a father who understood that the will of the people was tantamount above all else. If the people have faith, his father liked to say, in your ability to decipher between right and wrong, the people will follow you to the grave. His father was a great man, a just man as it were. William had taken that very same principle to heart in his business career, trying to ensure that above all else, he brought at least a trickle of honor and self-respect to the table. As the King of the Restored Holy Kingdom, William had the power to play God with the Citizenry. Yet the lessons taught to him by his father had made a lasting impression. Even if it meant sacrificing the unending power of a sovereign Regent, William had to ensure that the Azuran people came first, always. After a year full of heartache and despair, He owed them that much.
William's inner musings had sapped a few extra minutes off the clock, prodding him to move on with the day. He took a quick peak over his shoulder, eying the ornate clock that hung just over the facade to the parlor. 5:15 PM on the dot. He had a meeting with a scientist-doctor from the Military M.R.D. (Medical Research Division) at the bequest of Consul General Hawkins in less than five minutes. After that, there would be plenty of time for sentimental journeys down the highways of remembrance. There was still work to be done.
As usual, he was horrifyingly unprepared for his meeting.
The fact that his meeting was in fact a personal audience with the most powerful man in the Azuran Empire only exasperated the situation. Dr. Edwin Gershwin Grüber "Eddie" Rickenbacker, a man only half-worthy of such an impressive mantle, was used to fumbling around when something important came up. Technically, his full title was Dr. Edwin Gershwin Grüber Rickenbacker, M.D., Head of Virology at the James Maricopa Medical Research Institute, aka Military M.R.D. at Fort Maricopa. Though some times, such as the present, he wondered if he should even be entrusted with a desk job, let alone conducting experiments on some of the world's most deadly pathogens.
Dr. Rickenbacker had been summoned to the Royal Palace at Capodimonte by Consul General Neal Hawkins, who saw great potential in his work. Consul General Hawkins struck him as a lonely figure, distant and cold to all but only his most trusted staff officers. He was a far cry from the methodical John Xavier Mulder, or even the charismatic Thomas C. DeWitt, his two predecessors to the office which he now served. Being the chief virologist at the military's center for "medical research" (aka biological weapons development) had its perks: namely, learning the in's and out's of the political goings-on behind the scenes amongst the top tiers of governance. He was crap as a soldier, sure, but as a diplomat? Eddie had learned the tricks of the trade a long, long time ago.
Rickenbacker quickly made an attempt at organizing his official dossier to His Majesty the King, in reality a jumbled mess of metabolic reports and vector charts that would probably be like Latin to the King. His footsteps clanked loudly in the empty hallway which lead towards his rendezvous with Sir William the Great. Consul General Hawkins would be waiting for him outside the parlor that doubled as the King's office of affairs, at least until the architects finished working on the final Royal Palace, some fifteen miles south of the current building. Ashford Manor was a splendid estate in and of itself, at least to the common man. Golden facades seemed to lace every archway, and the portraits that hung from the polished marble walls seemed to be worth more than most people make in two lifetimes. If the "new" Capodimonte was to make Ashford look like a tin can, the new palace was going to be something extraordinary.
Just as he'd promised, Consul General Hawkins was waiting for him at the top of a short flight of stairs, dressed in his finest uniform, complete with ceremonial sword awarded to him for his loyalty by the King at his coronation. The sight of the dashing Consul General made Eddie cringe on the inside. He'd chosen to wear his military-issue dungarees to the audience, complete with his thick bifocals and his neatest lab coat, though he'd chosen to add a nifty little bow-tie from the thirft shop to at least carry a bit of formal attire into the King's manor. Hawkins himself had told him not to worry about dressing to impress the King, for he was "humble as homemade pie" according to the General. Rickenbacker prayed that Hawkins wasn't perpetrating a most embarrassing rib on him.
"Ah, Dr. Rickenbacker!" The Consul General was particularly excited to see the middle-aged man, perhaps more unhealthily than would be warranted to a sane man. Hawkins' eyes beamed with amusement and jocularity upon catching sight of the lowly doctor, making Gershwin feel even more uncomfortable about the way he was dressed. For Heaven's sake, he was meeting the King!
"Sir," Eddie proclaimed swiftly, "Colonel Edwin Rickenbacker, reporting as ordered!" Eddie gave the neatest salute he could, barely trying to conceal his glee in getting the chance to do so. Besides knowing how to play the political game better than anyone else, he also held an increasing fascination with being an honest-to-goodness real soldier. At Maricopa, he was more accustomed to receiving handshakes and nods from officers three grades below him. It was simply an unspoken rule amongst the virologists there. It's good policy to dispense with the formalities and get down to brass tacks when working in an environment where the air could murderball you.
"Remember," Hawkins said quietly, "the King is a man of simple tastes, but he's probably the smartest and most ingenious man you're going to meet outside of Maricopa when it comes to this type of information. Don't overreach with the scientific details, but don't dumb it down, neither."
"Understood, Consul General, sir," Eddie responded in kind. There really wasn't much of a need to dig down on the subject; he was here to make the military equivalent of a sales pitch to the King for Consul General Hawkins. Nothing more, nothing less. A pair of Consul General Hawkins' orderlies pushed the heavy wooden doors open - Eddie assumed that it was the doorway to his audience with the King.
Oh, I'm good, Eddie thought to himself. The wooden doors gave way to a posh room, dressed out with polished marble and ivory walls and accentuated with gold trim around the facade. A golden chandelier filled out with hundreds of small crystals hung low, considering the height of the vaulted ceiling. Three alcoves dotted the back wall, forming three verandas that offered incredible views of Center City Stevensburg. Even the Tower of Ashtaroth was visible in the distance. A huge mantle, adorned with tri-weaved flags and the Azuran military crest hung over a fireplace that was big enough to fit a small car in. The fire was roasting brightly in it, accentuated with the smell of cinnamon and hickory. It was, in short, the nicest room Eddie had ever had the presence of standing in.
His Majesty the King was sitting in middle alcove, directly behind an ornate desk made from the finest cedar and birch imaginable. Each carving seemed to have been done by hand. The King wasn't exactly setting the gold standard for fashion either: a plain white t-shirt tucked into a pair of faded denim jeans and tennis shoes rounded out the King's ensemble. Somehow, it pleased Eddie to find the King in such a state, as if the down-to-earth nature of the King would help move things along for his team at Maricopa. Funny, though, how the King was postured in the alcove, as if he had the world on his mind...
When the King noticed the two men entering the room, any trace of despair ran from his features like a flood. "Gentlemen," the King spoke boldly, rising from his perch in the veranda. He cut around the edge of his desk to meet them in front. Eddie's respect for the man was growing by the minute. "I take it traffic wasn't so bad tonight?"
"Not at all, your majesty," the Consul General nodded before giving a short bow to the King. The two stared at one another for a second before busting out into hearty laughter, embracing in a handshake as if they had just won a game of pick-up basketball. Soon enough, the Consul General turned to stand beside the King, holding out his hand in Eddie's direction as if he were presenting him to the King like he would present a car. "This, sir, is the man I've been telling you about: Colonel Edwin Rickenbacker, our chief virologist at Maricopa."
As if on cue, Eddie stepped forward to take a bow before the King. When he straightened back up, though, he was met simply by an extended hand. "Edwin Rickenbacker, of the Lorne Medical School at James Andrews University? Your reputation precedes you, Colonel!" Eddie tentatively extended his hand towards the King, clasping it in the most awkward handshake of his entire life. Really? Shaking hands with the King? William laughed.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Eddie exclaimed, letting his nervousness ebb away ever so slowly.
"Why don't we move over here to the fireplace, and I'll have Teresa bring us some coffee. Are you hungry, Colonel?" The King motioned for the two men to move to the fireplace, signaling with his other hand for an orderly.
Thank you, sir. I'm fine for now." The King nodded, motioning to the orderly by making a "drinking" gesture with his hands. The three men walked a good twenty feet before stopping off at a pair of suede leather couches, beset on either side by elegant looking coffee tables. A pair of smaller love seats were positioned perpendicular to the facing of the couch, so as to be facing one another. In between all three pieces of furniture was a polished glass long table, sat atop an expensive looking Oriental rug. The only thing out of place was the dingy wooden rocking chair that sat facing towards the couch, yet away from the fireplace. The rickety old think creaked and squawked as the King settled into it, again revealing the humbleness that Consul General Hawkins had eluded to. Hawkins took the love seat to the right of the King; Eddie chose the center of the big couch.
"Neal has informed me that you've got some type of proposal for me," the King said bluntly. The room wasn't very well lit without the chandelier giving off light, and from where the King was sitting, his shadow covered his facial expressions completely, making it hard for Eddie to get a read on him.
"That we do, your majesty," Eddie blurted. "We've, um, we've been following up on Project Capricorn as authorized by President Brett Metzger's declaration of 7 July, 1998, and we wanted to update you on its status."
Though Eddie couldn't tell for sure, it almost appeared as if the King was nodding. With the shadows cast over his face, the King almost had a surreal, other-worldly appearance about him. "Project Capricorn..." he stated, as if trying to rack his brain for the details. "You're referring to the program initiated to study the applications of Bio-hazard Class-IV infectious diseases indigenous to the Greater Azuran Realm in our weapons program." The King had done his homework, that's for sure.
"Aye, sir," Hawkins confirmed.
"Well," the King stated firmly, "twelve years is a long time to commit one's self to a project of this magnitude." The King paused briefly as the orderly carried over a silver platter adorned with a fancy silver coffee pot, and two smaller trays with rice cakes and ladles full of sugar and creamer. Once the tray was placed on the glass sitting table, the King continued: "Do you need me to authorize an extension to your charter?"
"Actually," Eddie proclaimed proudly, "we're here to tell you that it's completed."
Things took a decidedly more serious turn following Eddie's revelation to the King. Shortly after, William had sent for his chefs to fix the three of them a meal. And a meal it was: a beef & vegetable stir fry, with lobster rolls doused in a butter creme sauce and pork fried rice, in addition to a warm bottle of Sake. Hardly a word was spoken during the dinner, as if some sort of cat and mouse game had begun between the three players in the room. Finally, after the last bite had been taken, the King slowly raised a dining cloth to his lips, politely brushing off his mouth. With a sturdy look, the King motioned for Eddie to speak his mind. Which he did.
"In July, 1998, President Metzger initiated a top secret program - Project Capricorn - as you well know. We didn't have many periods of formal revue, and it's always been a given that most people outside of the top rings of the military even know about Capricorn, let alone the inner workings of our experiments at Maricopa." Eddie paused while the King reached for the bottle, yet he urged him to continue. "Over the past seven years, we've become increasingly fascinated with the Praxa Virus-"
"Praxa... the virus that causes Azuran Hemorrhagic Fever," William said, frowning. "We eliminated the virus from the Azuran Mainland in 1964! Wasn't its rejection as a weapons application covered in the Camden Protocols?
Eddie instinctively flinched at the mention of the name. The Camden Protocols were a highly classified, highly controversial series of initiatives developed by then-President Kieran Meagher after a near-accident at the old Bio-Weapons Research Center at Fort Thompson in 1961. The CP, as it was called at Maricopa, was a panic reaction to the relatively young Bio-Weapons Program being initiated at that time by the Old Republic. It was backhandedly responsible for delaying almost fifteen years of research, causing numerous deaths during the third and final war with Montemayor in the 1990s when they began to use a genetically modified form of Lassa Fever on shock troops in Saint Gabriel.
Consul General Hawkins jumped in with a response for the King. "President Metzger re-initiated the usage of AHF in 1976 through clandestine means. At the time, it was reported that Montemayor was working with the virus in order to weaponize it first."
"Clandestine?" The King's eyebrows arched at the very mention of the word.
The acting Consul General at the time, Michael Barber, got a representative from Queensland in Parliament to craft a few provisions in the military budget that allowed for the military to resume its study on the virus. Daniel McAllen got it in for us.
Eddie gave a quick look towards the Consul General, curious as to why he would make the name-drop. To his credit, the King merely leaned back in his rocking chair, holding onto a look of confusion, distrust, and unease. "Go on, Colonel."
"In 1998," he continued, "we made a relatively huge breakthrough with the virus itself. As you know, the Praxa Virus has a mortality rate of around 33.6% on its own merits with proper treatment. Left without proper medical provisions, the mortality rate hovered closer to 50% on the nose. Because of Praxa's incredibly long incubation period, it's long been sought after as a maximum effectiveness weapon of choice."
"Because the virus is highly virulent and incapacitates the victims for two or three weeks before finally killing them off," the King added, catching on.
"Right, sir. The virus is highly potent during the first four to six days after infection, with a decreasing window of contagion activity outside of the bodily secretions thereafter. We've worked on... toughening her up a bit, so to speak, increasing her virulence a bit."
The King frowned. "What have you gotten out of it?"
"A weapon of mass destruction," Consul General Hawkins quipped, sipping from his glass.
"That we do, sir," Eddie countered. "The virus has a genuine window of about two weeks now before the virulence dies off. This is the highest known window of any contagion currently used as a bio-weapon. That we know of, at least. This weapon is a genuine threat to the world if it were ever unleashed in an uncontrolled setting. When used in a controlled setting, however..." Eddie's voice trailed, allowing the King to fill in the gaps.
"What's the mortality rate, Colonel?" The King stopped rocking, bracing himself for the horrific truth of the matter.
"The fifth generation Praxa Virus, through genetic engineering, carries a 99.906% mortality rate, sir. Out of 15,000 lab rats, only about fourteen survived. That's a kill total of 14,986." The King rose from his chair, as mortified by the numbers as Consul General Hawkins appeared to be. He walked through the shadows of darkness, moving to stand near one of the room's alcoves as Eddie continued: "The test trials on our allotment of the Rhesus monkeys were even more telling. Out of 2,000 Rhesus, only one survived. It's not in very good shape now, though; it has severe neurological damage caused by the virus, rendering it paralyzed from the waist down. Why it didn't keel over and die, we're not entirely sure."
William stood in the shadows by the alcove, his back partially turned to the Consul General and Eddie. The darkness that had now enveloped the outside world was thickening by the minute, causing the King to be shrouded almost entirely in darkness. Only a vestige of his frame was visible in the dim light. "Do you have a vaccine yet?"
Eddie frowned; this was the tricky part of the pitch. "No sir, not yet, but our team is convinced that we're less than three months away from a vaccine to the virus."
"We're a damn sight closer than we were this time last year," Consul General Hawkins quickly added. He shot a disgusted look at Eddie, making him nearly wet his pants in fear.
"What do you want from me," the King coldly stated. The tone in his voice was inflection-less. "A kiss on the cheek?"
"Actually," Hawkins responded, "we want your permission to begin preliminary test trials with the virus for its weapons' applications."
The King didn't turn, at least not enough for Eddie to see, but he could hear the disapproval in the man's voice. "You can't build test a biological agent on Azuran soil without the vaccine, chief," the King answered. "I'm not about to bend the Camden Protocols for you, Neal."
The Consul General was quick to respond: "I wholeheartedly agree with you, your majesty. That's why we want your authorization to construct a new facility for our research efforts. We can get it off the mainland and out of harm's way from the citizenry."
"Where will you put this new facility, hm?" The tone of the voice of the King was clearly meant as a challenge to the Consul General. "The law is the law: the colonies of New Azura are considered part of the Azuran Homeland by the letter of the law, and none of our Protectorates would be dumb enough to allow the world's most deadly virus within its borders, even for testing."
"What about one of our Administrative Districts," Eddie sheepishly mentioned. "They're not protected under the law as being apart of the Azuran Mainland."
The King was growing frustrated. "If you're asking me to place your testing site in Yehuda Prefecture, you can forget it. I've got enough problems trying to pacify them as it is, without bringing even more troops to the damned place! And you can forget about placing it in Capodimonte, because I'm not going to share my backyard with a damned biological weapon! You think the Holy Church of Pentecost is going to rent out the Tower of Ashtaroth to you?"
"We were thinking about the Azuran Keys, sir," the Consul General finally interjected. At the mention of the region, the room became deathly quiet. This was the moment of truth for the Capricorn Project. The King turned away from them once more, refocusing on the outside world.
"Why them, chief," the King said quietly. "Haven't they gone through enough?"
"It's the only place we have, your majesty," Hawkins said, matching the King's somber tone. "We've got a lot of abandoned military facilities that can be upgraded within two weeks time to meet our needs. And the population..." Hawkins trailed off, seeming to reflect inwardly about the people of the Azuran Keys.
Eddie picked up the slack for him. "The people are concentrated in the remnants of Cullimore. Most of the other islands are still too radioactive to inhabit, but we've got a prime site to the south of Lyndhurst, away from most of the people there."
"It'd be a top secret move, of course. Until the vaccine is complete, it would be classified as one of our "Andromeda" strains anyways, which gives us total deniability. Tell the citizens that we're moving south to set up a fallout monitoring station... something." Consul General Hawkins tried to make the final push to the goal line.
The King sighed, seeming to get one last look at Stevensburg before trekking back to his two guests. He didn't say anything, not at first, though his breathing was becoming more concentrated... more deep, in and out. Though he sat gingerly down in the old rocker, he never quite took his eyes off the small alcove where he'd been standing. Hawkins said nothing.
"Something about biological weapons scare me, Neal." The King absently rubbed at this face, but there was no force, rhyme, or reason behind it. "You know, when a soldier gets shot on the battle field, you can extract the bullet. You can't see it coming, but you can see the cause if you can survive the effects. A virus, though... you can see the effects, but you'll never see the cause. It's barbaric, chief, and sometimes I wonder if my conscience would ever allow me to fully submit to the horrors of war."
Eddie looked at the Consul General, who only shook his head in response. Both men wisely let the King continue. "I promised the Azuran people that I would do everything in my power to protect them, Neal. Does that mean that to protect them, I have to place them in harm's way? All for the want of the perfect biological weapon..."
"We'll take every measure possible to ensure the safety of the people of the Azuran Keys," Consul General Hawkins assured him.
The King never even flinched at Neal's words. Instead, he reached blindly towards the table, reaching for the bottle of Sake, yet he pushed too far. The bottle tipped, then fell onto the glass table top with a thud. The bottle cracked, seeping its contents over the edge of the table, onto the Oriental rug below.
Eddie jumped into action: "Oh, sir, let me get-"
"Bad things can happen when you move blindly," the King said eloquently, cutting him off. For a few seconds, none of the three spoke. The King turned to meet Eddie's line of sight, peering into his soul like a seer. "If we don't see what the world is becoming, we could be in a very bad way. Yet if we move blindly into the future, playing God...
The King stopped rocking in his chair, looking back to the alcove once more. When his face turned back towards Eddie, the strains of fear, uncertainty, and confusion had become etched, as if the King's face were a stone tablet, bearing out every emotion to be felt in his body. And Eddie knew that they had him.
"Do what must be done."
